Storm
by NEWSIES.x.LUVR
Summary: Storm knows her weather, and when clouds obscure her vision normally she wait it out, but this thunder's a little different. Warning, there is SLASH in the story, real summery inside. ON BREAK
1. Prologuish type thing

The crash of thunder

The blinding light

It makes me wonder

Though the night

What the hell did I do wrong?

And why do I forever long

To see your annoying face,

This feeling I really cannot place

I want to feel your body heat

I shiver down to the soles of my feet

The rain above my head tonight,

It makes me shake with fearful fright

I don't want him, only you

I used to think you want me too

But now I really do not know

This feeling inside makes me woe

Then my life turned upside down

No longer my knight, you were a clown

You don't care about my pains

My sorrow, my strife, it's all a game

Why did you have to play this part?

You made me hurt, almost breaking my heart

You carelessly look as I cry

And when you didn't trust me, I though I'd die

Don't leave, please

I need you here when the thunder stops,

And when the light leaves

I need you here, please, with you I'll walk.

* * *

**I know i haven't written in a long ass time...I'm really sorry...I'm gonna try and post some chapters after my tests are done cause i might have more time, but this is something i wrote a while back hope you like it :-)**


	2. Meeting the Guys

**Summery: What happens when a girl's past catches up with her? When her close friend is the target and her enemy becomes her boyfriend? Will Storm be able to stand up to him or will he triumph in her defeat? READ! Warning, there is SLASH in the story as well as profanity in other languages. Have fun! Pairings: Race/OC, Spot/Jack, David/OC, Mush/Blink.--Summeries are not my forte...  
**

CHAPTER ONE

"Anyone here?" a soft voice called through the door. There was a thud and an older man looked over the counter.

"What can I do ya for?" he asked, leaning against said counter, looking over the girl standing before him. She was quite small.

"Uh, I was wondering if it were possible that I could stay here for a while," the girl asked, fingering the counter, "I heard bout this place from my friend."

"Normally, we don't let girls stay here," he informed her, tilting his head.

"You wont even know I'm here, Mister. I promise."

"Where're you coming from?"

"Orphanage," there was bitterness in her tone.

"Thrown out?" he asked and she looked away, nodding. He stayed staring at her, deep in thought before sighing. "As long as you pay for the nights you stay, there shouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks Mister," she beamed.

"Kloppman, what's your name, girl?" he asked, pulling out a book and a pen.

"Storm," she nodded in a confident tone.

"Your real name."

"Oh," she faltered, not knowing if she should tell the truth.

"No one will know, except me," he assured her.

"Amy-Christine Renoir." She looked down at the book, seeing he had spelt it 'Rennor', and shook her head, turning it around. "Like this." When she gave it back to him, he had a curious look on his face. "It's French."

"Alight then, I'll introduce you when the boys get back and they'll tell you what to do," he stated and she gave him a small smile in thanks, "If you don't mind me asking, what happened at the Orphanage?"

"I got thrown out."

"Why?"

"Fight," she muttered, staring at her feet, "You should probably know now that I carry a knife."

"So do a couple of the other Newsies, miss, it ain't anything I ain't used to," he smiled. She grinned back but he asked to see her knife so she took it out.

"It's got green tape on the handle so I knows it's mine." He nodded understandingly and handed it back over to her. "Do ya need me ta do anything?"

"Nah, it's alright, why don't you wait in the other room for the boys," he suggested and she did so but as she got to the doorframe, she turned back to him.

"Thanks for letting me stay."

"Just remember to pay your dues." She nodded and walked into the next room, looking around. It was a pigsty. Cards were everywhere, there was burnt paper scattered aimlessly, and enough newspapers to pay for a family's meal for a year. "_Bien, je n'aurais pas le temps de m'ennuyer__._" _Well, I won't be bored._

*-*Newsies*-*

"Storm?" Kloppman's voice called into the next room. There was a sneeze and then a thud, before a string of curses flew through the air. "Storm, you'se alright?"

"Barely," she coughed, swatting the dust around her.

"You've been cleaning?" he laughed, observing the room.

"I'm bored," she shrugged.

"I found some cards." Storm dropped the papers in her hands and grabbed the deck, sitting in the half cleaned room. Kloppman laughed, walking off and she started a game of solitaire. "Storm?"

"Meh."

"Storm," the voice was louder.

"Busy," she waved a hand at Kloppman.

"Storm!" he said shortly.

"Hold on," her concentration made him laugh.

"Storm!!" he yelled, amusement in his tone.

"I'm almost-."

"_**Storm**_!" he finally shouted, making her jump.

"Christ almighty, what?" she demanded, looking up to see Kloppman surrounded by a group of boys. Scrambling to her feet, she fell over, still staring up at all of them. "_Oh mon dieu!_" _Oh my god._

"Hello to you too," a boy with a cowboy hat slung around his neck smirked. She got to her feet, fixing her own hat, and stuck out her hand.

"Storm." He took it, seeming like a sign for the boys to disperse.

"Jack Kelly," he answered, grinning, "Kloppsy explain your situation to me and we'd be happy to induct you into the Newsies."

"I didn't know Newsies knew big words," she teased slightly.

"We'll surprise ya alright. So you're French?"

"Kinda," she smiled, "My mother was, but my Pap was Irish."

"_Vada all'inferno_," an Italian accent filled the air, followed by a boy storming through the room over to a corner. _Go to hell_.

"What the hell did you _say_ Conlon?" Jack laughed and Storm turned to see a boy with electric blue eyes smirking.

"Nothing." Storm raised a quizzical brow and Spot mimicked it, only annoying her. "New girl, Kelly?"

"Storm," Jack muttered, "This's Spot." They walked off and Storm followed them with her eyes, not missing their hands brushing against each other as they left the room. She shook her head before looking around the room again. "Storm!"

"_Que veux-tu maintenant?_" she growled under her breath, _What do you want now_, and she heard some of the Newsies murmuring as she left the room, "What?"

"Touchy," Spot drawled.

"_Va en enfer, connard_." _Go to hell, jerk_. He glared at her, pretending to know what she said but she smirked. She knew he had _no_ idea. "Look, the only reason I'm still up is cause I need to know what I'm doing tomorrow. If I had it my way, I'd be sleeping now." They both looked at her funny but she rolled her eyes. "You wanna try walking for about two days? Almost straight."

"That ain't nothing," Spot rolled his eyes, sitting next to Jack, who was staring at her. He looked interested.

"What?" she asked annoyed, her temper's fuse shortening.

"C'mon, I'll introduce you to Race," he smirked, standing.

"The Italian?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. Jack nodded, walking out of the room and obviously expected her to follow.

"Race, this's, uh, Storm?" She nodded at his pause, stifling a yawn. "You'll be selling with him tomorrow."

"Cowboy, I can't," Race stated, eyeing Storm warily, "I'm going to the tracks tomorrow."

"When _don't_ you go, Race?" Jack laughed.

"Taking a girl to the tracks, it ain't smart," the Italian boy pointed out. It was obvious that he really didn't want to go with her but she was too tired to care.

"Race, can it, you're taking her to the tracks," Spot growled, dragging Jack out of the room. Race looked at the red-haired girl before him and she shrugged.

"Excuse me, uh, Kloppman?" the man looked at her smiling, "Where do I sleep?"

"I'll show you." He walked up the stairs and into a bunkroom. "You'se lucky. We have a single, normally we don't."

"Lucky, lucky," she muttered, watching him leave before collapsing onto the cushion-y heaven, ready to start her new life the next day.


	3. Race and Eyes

CHAPTER TWO

"Wake up ya lousy loada bums!" Albert Kloppman's voice rang through the Newsie bunkroom.

"Could you, just once, let us sleep?" a smaller Newsie, Boots, groaned.

"Then you don't have as much time to sell," Kloppman grinned, ruffling his hair. He made his way down the hall, stopping where the Manhattan Leader slept. "Jack?"

"Shit." And his boyfriend.

"Jack, I'm coming in," Kloppman warned, knowing the eighteen year old too well.

"I'm up, Kloppsy," was the groggy reply, followed by the door opening, revealing a messy haired boy. He was sitting up in his bed, looking somewhat confused.

"Get downstairs," Kloppman told him, sternly, "You too, Spot." Another boy stood up from the other side of the bed, a scowl plastered on his face.

"Lost my hat," he explained.

"Course," Kloppman laughed, "Be careful."

"I think he knows," Jack muttered, when Kloppman had left as he stared at the other boy.

"You've never been able to hide things from him," Spot grunted, picking up the sheets, "You seen-."

"Spot, it's not like I sat down an told him!" Jack defended; the shorter boy rolled his eyes.

"I know," he eventually sighed, looking through a pile of clothes, "It's just, if this gets out, -."

"Spot, if you wanna stop, I understand," Jack muttered quietly, not looking the other boy in the eyes.

"We've tried that, Jack," Spot grinned, looking back at the other, "It didn't work, remember?"

"I know," he mumbled, staring at his hands. It was sad seeing him like this.

"Jack," Spot snapped, getting the other boy's attention, "Quit being a sap, if I didn't wanna be here, I wouldn't. You of all people know that."

"Yeah," he smiled, watching Spot looking behind the nightstand.

"And I ain't gonna leave you," he grumbled, not bothering to look at the other.

"You don't have to go saying stuff like that, Conlon," Jack grinned, brushing his lips against the shorter. Spot smirked, shoving him against the nearby wall, as he pulled him down to his lips. His hands raked through Jack's hair, pulling on it gently. Jack lifted him off his feet, switching so Spot was against the wall, and he wrapped the shorter boy's legs around his waist. Spot, too occupied with his boyfriend's mouth, didn't notice the lack of ground under his feet.

"Kelly," his husky voice pierced through the air, as he made his way down his neck.

"We can't," Jack moaned as Spots tongue caressed his ear. He bit lightly, causing Jack to moan again. "Spot."

"Hm?"

"We have to sell," he replied, his voice strained from desire.

"Tonight," Spot whispered, taking one last nip at his ear.

"Why'dya do that?" Jack whined as Spot unwrapped his legs.

"Can't help it," Spot shrugged, smirking, "You're funny as hell when horny." Jack blushed at the comment but didn't remark, instead, he kissed the boy again, fuzzing up his brain a little, pressing a piece of cloth against face, but stopped abruptly, leaving. "_**Jack**_!" He ran after the taller boy, into the bunkroom and was given several funny looks. "Gimme back my god damn hat!"

"About time you notice," Jack laughed, his eyes glinting mischievously. He threw it at the slightly annoyed boy and turned to see Storm, staring at the two of them. "Hey there, you ready to sell?"

"Sure," she shrugged, sensing the nervousness in his voice and almost laughing under Spot's glare. They were the most obvious people she'd ever met.

"Girl, I've been waiting here for ten minutes," a voice muttered from behind her. She turned to see the Italian boy from the night before.

"_Désole_," she muttered sarcastically, _Sorry_. He rolled his eyes and turned back to an amused Jack.

"Have fun." She glared at him but the burning on the side of her face was far too annoying to ignore for much longer.

"Stop staring at me like that," she finally yelled at Spot. He went slightly wide-eyed before continuing to glare at her.

"You better get in line, girl."

"For what?" she laughed, "You? That'd be the day." He was about to say something else but Racetrack dragged her out the door and into the street.

"One, do you even _know_ who you were talking to back there, and two, we're late enough without you fighting with every damn thing that breathes. Let's go!" he practically yelled, shoving her towards the awaiting carriage before she could retort.

"Higgins," the driver nodded curtly, "Got company?"

"Jack made me," Racetrack grumbled, fishing into his pocket, "Here ya go, Bart." Storm smiled politely at the man and followed Racetrack to the back of the carriage, smacking him across the arm when they started to move.

"Who the hell do you think you are yelling at me like that?" she hissed, glaring at his surprised face, "I stand up for myself. I don't _ever_ let _anyone_ talk to me the way that boy was talking to me. Never, alright? If you've got a problem with how I handle things, you can go screw yourself cause I don't give a rat's _ass_ what you think. Or anyone else for that matter, I've never cared for _anything_ that much and I don't plan on it now. " With that, she folded her arms and glowered forward. Racetrack stared at the girl before shaking his head with a ghost of a smile.

"Hey Storm?" he eventually smirked

"What?" she snapped, glaring at him.

"We're here," he laughed, jumping off the carriage. He offered her his hand but she didn't take it and slid off the carriage. He shook his head, walking ahead of her, obviously not caring if he lost her.

"Oi!" she yelled through the crowd and after several attempts, grabbed his arm and spun him around, "Look, I dunno my way round here and I don't plan on getting lost, either you put up with me or I talk to Jack and get another-."

"Would you just can it and hurry," Racetrack asked annoyed, pulling her after him. Begrudgingly, she followed him, but he yanked her into another guy.

"Whoa, jeez, sorry," she fumbled, looking up into a pair of truly unique eyes. Vaguely, she heard Racetrack sigh and somewhere registered that he had left her. The other boy grinned down at her, picking up her dropped hat.

"Hi," he chuckled, handing her the cloth. She nodded, glancing at the floor.

"I'm Storm," she finally regained the ability to speak, "Those're some peepers you've got there."

"What?" he laughed obviously amused by the girl.

"Uh," she furrowed her eyebrows, maybe she still couldn't speak, "I like your, uhm, Eyes, what's your name?"

"Danny," he smiled, sticking out his hand, "Is Storm your real name?"

"Nah," she shook her head as they started to walk again. Looking over the crowd, she saw Racetrack's head but only barely.

"I've seen you before," he mused and she raised an eyebrow, "Weren't you the girl singing to a police officer? He was trying to get you out of the square and you started singing at him instead of the audience."

"Yeah, I remember that," she grinned, "His wife wasn't too happy about that."

"You knew him?"

"Depends on your definition of _knowing_ someone," she sighed, "I've attract a fair amount of trouble, so the station knows my face. Their wives too."

"That must be fun," he teased but she rolled her eyes, shrugging.

"So, Eyes, what brings you to the races?" she eventually asked. The race had started and his eyes were attentive but she was completely bored.

"Money," he muttered before smiling. He had won, twenty-five dollars to be precise.

"Oh, you're a millionaire, you are," she laughed at his ecstatic face. He stuck out his tongue as a somewhat irked Racetrack approached. "How'd you do?"

"Nothing, I got nothing," he grumbled, brushing past her, "We're going to Brooklyn."

"Why," she demanded, stomping her foot, as Eyes (Danny) bid a quick farewell.

"Because, I'm in charge," he glared at her but she matched it, "Because, I have friends there, alright? Christ." A smug look passed her eyes before his eyes narrowed but she merely rolled hers this time.

"Wipe the look off your face, lets go before it starts raining."

"It's as sunny as gold, girl, it ain't gonna rain."

"My name," she growled, "is Storm."

"Excuse me," he mocked, smirking but turned away. Shaking her head, she looked at the sky before following him. She wasn't called Storm for nothing.


	4. Storm and it's Meaning

CHAPTER THREE

(_**Storm's POV**_)

"God damn girl," Racetrack cursed as rain pelted against his thin cotton shirt but I smirked.

"I love this weather," I told him unintentionally before he opened a door and he gave me a crazy look.

"It's pouring down rain, thunder and lightening is _crashing_, and you love it?" he asked exasperatedly, "I shouldn't be surprised, get inside."

"I'll be in later," I muttered, looking down the pier. We were in Brooklyn, in front of what I assumed to be the lodging house, and it was obvious he was freezing.

"Girl-."

"My name is-."

"Storm, I know," he snapped, "You're-."

"I'll be fine," I told him, stepping away from the doorstep. My feet slid down the wooden panels as lightening struck the water around me. A boat a good distance from the pier suddenly splintered as thunder boomed and a flash erupted. Smiling, I sat by the water's edge, watching the show before me. The colours of the sky and water as light hit it. It was waiting to be painted.

"It's dangerous to sit out here," a voice told me but I couldn't tear my eyes from the beauty before me. I always got caught up in thunderstorms. "Is this how you got your name?"

"I thought you went inside," I felt him sit next me but didn't bother looking at him, "What'd you want, Race?"

"Is it?"

"Is it what?" this time I looked at him.

"How you got your name?" he chuckled and I smiled slightly, my eyes turning back to the purple night sky.

"Yeah," I whispered, "The night they died there was this horrific thunderstorm. The police found me out by the docks watching; then dumped me in an orphanage."

"How old were you?"

"Four," I smiled as a clap sounded followed by the spike in front of us.

"We really should get inside, Storm."

"You're scared?" I looked over at him, only to see slight, well, to be honest, I couldn't put my finger on it. He didn't answer. He was too busy observing me. "You wanna know something?"

"Sure," he smiled.

"Someone once told me, when I get angry, lightning fills my eyes."

"How is that even possible?" he sounded surprised, not doubtful.

"I dunno," I shrugged, standing, "C'mon, let's go." He stood with me and started to walk back but I sprinted. Catching up to me and even surpassing me, I let out a happy laugh when we had both stopped at the door but neither moved to open it.

"You like storms." The obvious statement made me grin.

"I adore storms," I nodded.

"They suit you," he told me before both our hands reached out to open the door but they brushed. Looking at each other once more, I felt more than I saw him leaning closer but the door opened.

"Get inside," a voice growled and I turned to see Conlon glaring at me, my happy mood disintegrating.

"_Va en enfer_," I rolled my eyes, _Go to hell_. His eyes narrowed but I pushed past him, shaking the drops of water off my clothing.

"C'mon, we'll go find you something to change into," Race stated, grabbing my arm as he pulled me out of the room.

"What the _hell_?" I bit out, yanking my arm back.

"He doesn't like you," he shrugged.

"Oh, so I've notice," I grumbled, folding my arms as he rifled through a trunk of shirts, pants, and . . . pink underwear. I shuddered, turning away before I continued: "Neither did you as of this afternoon."

"That was before."

"Before what?" I asked exasperatedly.

"The storm, Storm," he smirked, looking back at me.

"Oh, very smart, Racetrack," I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling at the play of words. It'd been two days . . . snap out of it, Storm. Shaking my head, I looked back to the boy, seeing he was holding up a plaid shirt and dark, brown pants, as opposed to my solid, dark green shirt and black pants. "What'd the storm change?"

"You just looked so serene," he shrugged.

"And before I was," I trailed off.

"A stuck up brat."

"Oi!" I screamed, hitting him upside the head.

"A violent, stuck up brat, Jesus," he muttered and I glared at him, "Well now you aren't!"

"You're an ass, Race," I grumbled, snatching the clothes from him, "I'm _not_ a brat."

"I didn't mean to offend you, Storm," he told me, annoyed but I folded my arms, staring him down. Finally, he rolled his eyes, leaving. I watched the door he'd exited for a few minutes, somewhat hoping he'd come back, but when he didn't, I dropped the clothes. There was a fire escape on the side of the building; I couldn't help climbing up it. The thunder had died down and the lightning was further off but the rain was still pounding. I stood, facing the water and the flashing, feeling a peace fill my being. A memory filled my mind and I couldn't help it:

"_**Let's pretend we're riding on a kite,**_" I smiled at the clash,

"_**Let's imagine we're flying through the air!**_

_**We'll ascend until we're out of sight. **_

_**Light as paper, we'll soar!**_

_**Let's be wild, up high above the sand, **_

_**Feel the wind, the world at our command.**_

_**Let's enjoy the view, and never land.**_

_**Floating far from the shore.**_

_**Some things are meant to be,**_" walking closer to the edge of the building,

"_**The clouds moving fast and free.**_

_**The sun on a silver sea.**_

_**A sky that's bright and blue.**_

_**And some things will never end.**_

_**The thrill of our magic ride.**_

_**The love that I feel inside for you.**_

_**We'll climb high beyond the break of day.**_

_**Sleep on stardust, and dine on bits of moon**_

_**You and I will find the Milky Way.**_

_**We'll be mad, and explore,**_" it was as if the thunder harmonized with me,

"_**We'll recline a loft upon the breeze.**_

_**Dart about sail on wit with ease.**_

_**Pass the days doing only as we please,**_

_**That's what living is for.**_

_**Some things are meant to be,**_"my voice cracked,

_**"The tide turning endlessly,**_

_**The way it takes hold of me, no matter what I do,**_

_**And some things will never die, the promise of who you are,**_

_**The memories when I am far from you.**_

_**All my life, I've lived for loving you; let me go now.**_"

"That," an amazed voice made me jump, "that was amazing."

"You aren't supposed to be out here," I muttered, turning to see Conlon staring at me, with an expression that read confused, annoyance, and well any other emotion you could think of. Something told me this was as much reality I'd be seeing from him.

"Neither are you," he stated, folding his arms, "You're still in wet clothes, get inside. You'll die."

"I won't _die_," I laughed, "I'll get a cold at worst."

"You've done this before," he stated, more that questioned but I shrugged.

"My name's Storm for a reason."


End file.
